


(He Looks) Pretty In Punk

by falloutbrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Jock Pete Wentz, Light Angst, M/M, Punk Patrick Stump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutbrick/pseuds/falloutbrick
Summary: Patrick’s a punk, and Pete does sports... What more can I say?A silly little high school AU based off of a concept a friend showed me on twitter: “pete x weird punk boy patrick who strangled someone in homeroom freshman year and now everyones afraid of him.”
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Pete walked into his third period english class groggy and tired. A person would think that they’d be awake and actually productive by now, but Pete was not that typical person. Sure, he was relatively good in school and had a decent social life, and fuck, he was even captain of his school’s football and soccer team with ladies fawning over him as he scored goals. But fuck him if he could ever get a decent goodnight sleep.

Nonetheless, he slowly dragged his feet to his desk near the back with the rest of his jock buddies who are, oddly enough, calm and quiet.

 _“Good,”_ Pete thought as he sat down. Unfortunately, the rest of his friends saw him and took it as their que to start talking about sports. Which, Pete was fine with that, but not at ten thirty in the morning when his eyelids could barely stay open.

They didn’t shut up until the bell rung and the teacher shut the door to the classroom which signaled the beginning of class.

“Good morning, everyone!” Mrs. Lee, their overly excited english teacher, sang to the class. The class mumbled a good morning back to her and she smiled, “I hope everyone is doing well this morning.”

The class had barely even started and Pete knew that this was going to be a long ass day. How he got through Chemistry his first period and ASL his second period was totally beyond him. He must’ve been sleeping because he didn’t remember a thing.

“This morning we’re going to be talking a little bit about poetry and then towards the end of class I will assign you all your poetry projects,” The woman told the class and everyone started to groan. “Oh don’t whine about it, it’s going to be _easy_ ,” She swatted at the air and tutted, “Besides, you’ll be able to work with a partner.”

Everyone cheered at this, but it wasn’t until the end of class that she revealed the downside of that fact.

“Picking our partners?” One of the ass-kissing kids groaned, “Come on, Mrs. Lee, you always let us choose our own.”

“I know I do, but I figured that I would switch it up a bit,” Mrs. Lee giggled like she fucking knew that she just fucked up Pete’s entire life. Well, not his entire life, but the odds of her pairing him up with his actual friends is very low.

And Pete’s prediction was correct when the teacher called out, “Pete Wentz? Your partner is going to be Patrick Stump.”

At first, Pete furrowed his eyebrows in confusion since the name wasn’t clicking in his head. However, the turn of a familiar head of bleached blonde hair in front of him caught his attention, causing him to meet eyes with a stern face.

 _“Holy shit,_ ” Pete thought as he stared back into their blue eyes. Something about his expression must’ve ticked them off because they quickly scoff and turned back in their seat with a scowl on their face.

 _“Patrick fucking Stump…”_ Pete thought to himself, still stunned by the fact that he completely forgot his existence. He hasn’t seen him or heard about him since that whole incident freshman year. It’s been a whole two years since then, and Pete thought that he completely left school, but there he is in his english class looking the same as he did before as if time didn’t pass.

Patrick wore a large leather jacket overtop a baggy Ramones t-shirt that had a shit-ton of holes in it with tight, ripped skinny jeans. He also wore black converse that looked as if they were worn while walking through literal hell- that’s how beaten up they were. His accessories also included chains that hooked onto his pants, multiple chokers and metal necklaces that hung around his neck, and a fucking _lip-piercing, holy shit…_

Pete wasn’t wearing anything fancy; just one of his soccer jerseys over top of his hoodie and jeans that were way too big for him (thanks, Mom). He wore his white Nike shoes that every guy in his school were wearing, and suddenly he felt very disconnected to his peers by the fact that he’s going to have to leave them to hang with the weird punk kid.

After Mrs. Lee stopped talking, Pete turned around to try and talk to his friends. “ _Oh my god, do you guys see who I have to work with?_ ” He wanted to joke, but as soon as he turned around, his friends gave him disapproving looks.

“What?” He asked and gave them a puzzled look.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna have to work with the weird kid,” One of them said, “You’re not actually gonna do it, are you?”

“I mean, yeah, I sort of have to,” Pete chuckled awkwardly. “What do you want me to do? Tell her to switch me with someone else?”

“That would be better, yes,” Another said, “He’s a literal freak, dude. You remember what happened freshman year, don’t you?”

Pete does, but vaguely. He wasn’t there to witness it, but apparently Patrick got into a fight with one of the guys on his football team two years ago. It left the latter with a black eye, a broken elbow, and a shattered kneecap. He wasn’t able to play for the rest season, and the football team was distraught. Both of them got suspended for several weeks, and no one truly knew who started it. But of course, everyone blamed the weird punk kid because “ _how dare you assume that the preppy, important football player did anything wrong?!”_ Nonetheless, it earned Patrick the status of “don’t fuck with me, or I’ll shatter your kneecaps” and no one spoke of or to him since.

Not until now.

“Come on, dude, he’ll literally eat you alive,” One of them laughed which caused everyone else in that group to join in.

But Pete only rolled his eyes and tutted, “I’m sure it won’t be that bad, guys, just chill out. Besides, it’s just for one small, dumbass project… how bad can it be?”

“Very.” They all laughed again, but Pete only rolled his eyes and got up from his desk. He walked over to Patrick whose head was down as he scribbled into his notebook. The slightly taller junior wanted to see what he was writing, but as soon as he got close, Patrick shut his notebook and shoved it into his book bag that sat next to his chair on the floor. 

The blonde looked up at him with hatred in his eyes as he spit, “What do you want?”

Surprised by the sudden anger, Pete stepped back a little bit and defensively put his hands out in front of him.

“Hey, I just wanted to come over here and talk about the project,” Pete said slowly. He really didn’t want to end up like his teammate, so he was trying to keep everything cool. “I figured that we should talk about it ‘cause we’re, y’know, partners?” He shrugged as if what he said was a suggestion.

Patrick paused for a moment and stared at Pete. The latter began to feel confused, but slowly the punk lowered his defenses. His shoulders became relaxed and his eyes didn’t feel as if he was trying to light the person in front of him on fire with his mind, so Pete found comfort in their sudden softness. _Wow, they’re actually really pretty—_

“Yeah, I guess so,” Patrick shrugged nonchalantly. His voice didn’t sound so malicious as it once was, so Pete guessed that he wasn’t so mad at him anymore. Why Patrick was mad at him in the first place was beyond the jock, so he won’t question. “Here, sit down,” He offered the empty seat in front of him and Pete took it.

Pete spun around so he could face the punk as they spoke, “So what exactly is this project about? I kinda wasn’t listening after she called our names.”

“Too busy looking at me, were you?” Patrick raised an eyebrow and smirked. His voice sounded sarcastic, but also kind of pissed off.

“Uhm, no, I’m sorry…” Pete tried to backpedal, but _he was, in fact, staring at him,_ “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine, I guess,” Patrick mumbled, “People stare at me all the time, so I’m used to it.”

At this, Pete frowned, “Hey, listen, I’m sorry for staring at you. I was just surprised that you were my partner, that’s all,” He said.

The punk seemed to understand, so they shrugged their shoulders and looked back down at the paper on their desk. “The project is that we need to write a series of poems like the examples that are here-“ Patrick pointed at the paper where there were a series of different poem examples, “-And then make a poetry book with our poems inside.”

“Holy shit, I thought she said that this would be easy,” Pete scoffed as he looked at the paper. There had to have been at least fifteen different poem examples.

“When has Mrs. Lee ever given us something easy” Patrick shook his head.

“Literally never,” Pete sighed. This is the only class he’s actually not doing well in. He doesn’t have an F, per say, but he definitely doesn’t have an A.

Patrick glanced at the jock knowingly, but Pete dismissed it and decided to ask, “So when is this due?”

The punk looked back down at the paper to find the due date, “It’s due on Friday.”

“What the fuck, it’s only Tuesday.” Pete complained, “This is bullshit. We’re never gonna get this done.”

“Bullshit, indeed,” Patrick nodded. “But she said that if we needed more time then we should probably work on this outside of school.”

“But I have sports and stuff to do after school, I can’t just skip it.” Pete whined. _Goddamn you, Mrs. Lee._

“Then how do you suggest we do this?” Patrick said, pure boredom dripping off of his words. The jock could tell that the punk would rather do anything else but be in his presence. And Pete felt the same way about them.

Before he answered his question, Pete glanced over at his friends who sat in the same places as before and looked at the duo as they tried not to laugh. _Have they been staring at them this entire time?_

Suddenly, Pete felt very embarrassed. As if someone had just exposed his naked body to the world, and everyone were laughing at him. He tried to look away from them, but he had already caught their eyes and now they’re laughing even harder.

Of course, Patrick picked up on this and turned around to see what all the commotion was about, but once he realized that they were laughing at him, he turned back around and slid down in his chair. Pete watched as his cheeks turned ruby red and flipped the collar of his leather jacket up to cover his face.

Pete realized in this moment that they won’t be able to get any work done without the harassment of his dumbass teammates. Plus, he’s afraid that if they’re around each other anymore, that he’ll be considered a freak as well. And that’s a no-no for a jock.

“Listen, I think we should work on this at my house,” Pete whispered, “That way we won’t have to be around each other at school. We can save ourselves from the harassment and get this over with. And once this is over, we won’t have to deal with each other ever again, you okay with that?”

“That’s perfectly fine by me,” Patrick scoffed. “I don’t want to hang around you here anyways.”

“Ditto,” Pete agreed. “Give me your phone number and I’ll text you my address.”

Patrick only rolled his eyes before he recited his phone number and watched as Pete typed it into his phone. He’s not allowed to have it out, but fuck Mrs. Lee for putting him through this bullshit, she can suck it up. 

Once he was done, Pete shoved his phone back into his pocket and jumped up from his seat.

“Is there any specific time you want to come over?” The jock asked. He himself has a specific schedule to follow today, but he figured that would be nice and ask.

“Uh, no, anytime is fine.” Patrick shrugged again.

“Okay, how about five? Is that good?”

“Yeah that’s fine with me.”

“Okay good.”

“...Yeah, fine.”

Thankfully, the bell rang which signaled the end of class and the end of their awkward conversation. Pete headed back to his desk to grab his book bag before he walked out the door. As he strolled to his fourth period class, he finally realized the horror that will partake after school and suddenly wished for the day to go even slower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! this is my first fic on AO3, so i hope y’all enjoy it! (i had previously written on wattpad, but now i’m here... character development, kiddos)
> 
> nonetheless, thank you, my fellow bad bitches for reading! stay bad xx  
> -brick


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Which came first, the music or the misery?  
> We're high-fashion, we're last chances”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! thank you all for the support on the first chapter of this fic, y’all are the sweetest and i love every single one of you. but anyways, enjoy chapter 2!

It was finally the end of the school day, and thankfully Pete didn’t have any homework. Other than after school football practice, he was pretty much free for the night.

That is until he remembered his after school work date with the punk.

“ _Ugh,_ ” The jock groaned as he parked his old Honda Civic in his driveway. He jumped out of the driver’s seat before shutting the car door and walking up to his front door. Once inside, he made a beeline for the stairs and hopped up the steps two at a time before walking towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Pete was soaked in sweat from the drills he had to run from practice, so he took a quick shower to smell better before Patrick came over. It was four thirty at that time, so he would be over soon. Once he was clean and wearing sweat-free clothes, he walked into his bedroom that was across from the bathroom and jumped into bed to wait for the arrival of his work partner.

The jock was anxious, to say the least. He had the tendency to always feel anxious even about the dumbest things (in his mind), but having the punk at _his_ house and in _his_ bedroom made it all ten times worse. Like, _fuck_ , the dude _literally shattered a guy’s kneecap_. That has got to be the worst thing to ever happen to a football player, or anyone in general.

These thoughts took up his mind until the ring of his doorbell knocked him out of his trance.

Pete got out of bed and ran down the stairs towards the front door. Through the little window built into the door, he could see the punk’s bleach-blonde hair, and Pete suddenly realized how real this whole situation was. But nonetheless, the jock opened the door, and Patrick stood on the other side. He wore the same clothes that he wore to school with his backpack hung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Pete said. His tone was meant to be welcoming, but even he could hear the anxiousness in his voice.

“Hey,” Patrick repeated. He looked bored like he did in class when they talked about what to do about the project, but Pete could also tell that he was nervous.

“ _Huh_ ,” Pete thought, “ _He’s also nervous._ ”

But nonetheless, Pete welcomed him inside by stepping off to the side to let him through the doorway. He closed the door behind him and motioned Patrick to follow him towards the stairs. Of course, the punk followed as Pete went up the stairs and towards his bedroom.

His bedroom was pretty standard: four light blue walls with two windows letting the afternoon sunlight shine through, tan carpet that had dirty clothes littered throughout it’s space (Pete probably should’ve cleaned up before he came, but oh well), and his bed that had a black striped comforter with matching pillow cases on top. There were also several sports posters taped to certain parts of the walls along with a trophy case that hung overtop the head of his bed which held all of Pete’s trophies. And in the darkest corner of his room sat Pete’s disregarded bass guitar. The lonely instrument was covered dust since it hadn’t been touched in months.

Of course, this was the first thing Patrick commented on upon entering the room.

“So you play bass?” He asked as he eyed the red and blacked-bodied instrument.

“Uh, yeah,” Pete said as he sat on his bed and looked over at the bass. _He honestly forgot that he had it._ “Or well, I used to. I got it when I was twelve, I think, and played it as much as I could without annoying my mom-“ He chuckled lightly at the memory of her trying to take it away from him because he was up until one AM practicing. “-but I guess as I got older I just grew out of it, y’know? I started getting into sports and stuff and I—“ 

Pete paused when he realized that he had been rambling about his useless life story. He looked up at Patrick who had been listening to him intently as he leaned against his doorway, his book bag at his feet. A soft look was on his face as he listened, and suddenly Pete wanted to spew everything about him to the punk. But Pete couldn’t let that happen, oh no, that’s a one way ticket to the hospital for a shattered knee.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” Pete laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to go on an entire tangent there.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Patrick said as he shook his head. His tone was thoughtful and understanding which Pete liked way more than his bored, sarcastic tone. “I just figured I’d let you spew your guts while I stand back and watch.”

Pete became confused by that last part, but he figured that it was just Patrick’s smart-ass way of saying that he was just being nice.

But Patrick only chuckled as he bent down to pick up his book bag and walked over to Pete’s bad. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask if he could sit, and Pete motioned to the spot next to him as if to say, “ _Be my guest._ ” There was a slight moment of hesitation before Patrick fully sat down on the jock’s comforter. The chains on his pants rattled together as he situated himself on the bed which made Pete internally laugh, but thankfully the punk didn’t see his facial expression since he was pulling out his english notebook from his book bag and setting it out in the middle of them. They both stared at it as if they were waiting for it to come to life or something. (Pete’s seen “ _Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared_ ” before, and it’s haunted him to this very day. But that’s besides the point.)

Finally, Pete was the one who broke the silence, “Oh my god, this is going to take forever,” He complained.

“Well, maybe if we just try and work on it one example at a time, we can eventually get through it. Besides, it’s just poetry- how hard can it be?” Patrick opened the notebook where the instructions are tucked into the sheets. He pulled it out and recited the text out loud as if Pete couldn’t read it for himself. “It’s pretty self explanatory,” The blonde said as he looked up from the sheet and at the boy in front of him, “You just gotta work on it… Have you ever written poetry before?”

Pete paused for a moment to think his question over. He has, he _definitely has_. A whole ass notebook, in fact, but he would never admit this to anyone. Not even his mom knew about it, and she knew practically everything. His poems were private; hidden under lock and key where no one could ever find them. Were they necessarily bad? No, but have god be damned if a jock couldn’t express his feelings in a way that wasn’t tackling other people to the ground. He felt embarrassed, to say the least, by the fact that he not only writes them, but actually _likes_ writing them. It felt good when he wrote them; better than scoring a goal or kissing some cheerleader. It felt like he could finally be himself without any judgment or harassment. But some part of him couldn’t stand the thought of him actually showing his poems to the world. Let alone the punk sitting in front of him.

“No,” Pete shook his head, “I don’t write poetry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, it’s fine,” Patrick said. “I actually write some poetry myself, so it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Of course you do,” Pete scoffed, and the blonde took that as a threat.

“What’s wrong with writing poetry?” Patrick snapped. “Do you have a hard time thinking that people do things other than playing fucking football, or are you that much of a dick?”

“Nothing’s fucking wrong with it, I just-“ Pete sighed. He was trying to diffuse the situation he accidentally created, but of course he failed. “I figured that people like you would write poetry.”

“People like me?” Patrick raised his eyebrows as his tone shifted to sarcasm. “Who exactly are you referring to, Wentz, ‘cause I’d love to hear who you think “people like me” are.” He crossed his arms and glared daggers at the jock.

“Well… I- Uh…” Pete stuttered. He was completely fucked. _Goodbye, kneecaps…_

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter, anyways. You goddamn jocks think you’re all high-and-mighty while everyone else has to suffer for being different,” Patrick huffed. “I’m sick of being harassed. I’m sick of being the punchline. And most of all, I’m sick of people like you-“ They pointed a long, slim finger at Pete and now he felt like shit.

“Hey listen, dude, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t “dude” me and act like nothing happened.” Patrick grabbed their open notebook from Pete’s bed and stuffed it back into his book bag. “First, it was talking about me behind my back while I was sitting not even ten feet away from you. Second, it was your friends being absolute assholes and laughing at me- I’m sure you were too. And now finally, this-“ Patrick got up from the jock’s bed, “You’re being a complete and utter douchebag for no goddamn reason.”

“Patrick, please-“ Pete tried to beg, but the punk wasn’t having it.

“I’m fucking done- I’m leaving.” Patrick turned to leave, but Pete jumped up from the bed and in one last attempt to stop them, he grabbed their wrist.

Patrick paused before turning back slightly to look at Pete’s tanned hand wrapped around his pale wrist. He glanced up at Pete’s eyes, and the jock could practically see the flames in his blue irises. Luckily, he was able to speak before the blonde went on another tangent.

“Patrick, please, I am so, so sorry,” Pete apologized. “I didn’t mean to try and hurt you. I just-“ Pete sighed as he felt himself make the same mistake again. “I’ve never really met or hung around a person who is like you, so it’s difficult for me to try and talk to you, I guess.” He could see the flames dim a little in Patrick’s eyes, but he knew that he needed to try harder. “As for my friends, I’m also sorry about that. They’re just dicks like me, and it was rude of them to laugh at you.”

Thankfully, this calmed down Patrick a little more as he sighed forcefully and looked over to the side as if they were in thought. Pete still held onto his wrist in case the punk decided to make a run for it.

“Please don’t leave.” The jock said sincerely.

Patrick finally looked over at him and let out another harsh exhale as he used his other hand to set his book bag down on the bed.

“Fucking fine,” The punk mumbled. “But I swear to god, Wentz, if you even-“

“I won’t, I promise.” Pete couldn’t guarantee that promise, but he would try. 

The jock proceeded to let the punk’s wrist go and sit back in his spot on the bed. Patrick sat down as well and got out his english notebook.

“Alrighty,” Pete said almost jokingly and Patrick quirked an eyebrow, “Take two.” 

***

The rest of the night went on as the boys started to work on their poems for their poetry book.

Patrick showed Pete some of his poems, and Pete thought that they were really good surprisingly. Not that he didn’t think the punk could write, but they were so deep and emotional that Pete could relate to them. Not that he would ever admit this to them, but it was nice to know that someone out there could relate to him on that level.

Pete wrote the beginnings of some poems, but he couldn’t find it within himself to write in front of the other boy. It was nothing on Patrick, but it was simply because Pete was too self-conscious to write anything while being in the presence of another person.

They worked in silence for the most part, but some words were exchanged between both of them every now and then. However, it wasn’t until about six thirty that Patrick decided to speak up.

“So what type of music do you listen to?” He asked.

Surprised by the sudden question, Pete looked up from his page of half-written poems and furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“What kind of music do you listen to?” Patrick nodded to the jock’s bass in the corner. “I imagine that you would listen to at least a few songs to play on your bass over there.”

Pete turned his body to look back at the red and black bass guitar that stood in his dusty bedroom corner. _God, he should really start practicing again…_

“Oh nothing super fancy,” He shook his head. “Metallica, AC/DC, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles… stuff like that.” He shrugged as he looked back to Patrick who had a surprised look on his face. “What?”

“Oh nothing, I just-“ He shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting that sort of answer.” He chuckled somewhat awkwardly.

 _I really like that laugh_ , Pete thought to himself, but nonetheless he quirked an eyebrow at this. “What sort of answer were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” They shrugged, “Like rap, or something? Whenever I walk past the weight rooms after school, it’s always blaring this awful rap music.”

“Oh?” Pete laughed, “Nah that’s just Tyler and his terrible music taste. He doesn’t know anything about good music.”

They both laughed together, and for the first time ever Pete forgot that they weren’t technically friends. He hoped that he could forget for a little while longer.

“So what kind of music do you listen to, then?” Pete asked. He probably already knew this answer by looking at their band t-shirt, but it felt right to ask. Because, you know, Pete was trying not to be a dick.

“Oh boy, I listen to a lot of stuff,” Patrick hummed to himself as he thought. “My favorite bands and artists would have to be Queen, Green Day, Prince, Nirvana- because Kurt Cobain is God himself- David Bowie, Misfits, Good Charlotte…” He paused for a moment before finally saying, “Oh and the Ramones, of course.”

“Wow, you’re really all over the place,” Pete observed. He guessed a few- Ramones and Green Day were a given- but _David Bowie and Prince?_ Damn…

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” The punk laughed. “I listen to all sorts of genres and bands, so choosing my favorites is hard.”

“I can imagine so,” Pete lightly chuckled and it seemed that it was the end of the conversation, but Patrick went on to ask:

“Do you think that I could-“ He motions to the bass.

“Oh, go right ahead.” The jock watched as Patrick got up from the bed and walked over to his bass. They grabbed a hold of it’s slim neck, and Pete thought that that was the first time someone had touched it in months. 

Nevertheless, they picked it up from the ground and carried it over to the bed before sitting down and setting it in their lap. Oddly enough, the punk stuck a hand into one of the pockets of their leather jacket and pulled out a dark blue guitar pick.

“Do you always just carry around guitar picks?” Pete poked fun as Patrick strummed the open four strings.

“Well,” Patrick paused to chuckle, “Before I came over here, I played my guitar a little bit because I felt a little anxious, but instead of putting the pick in between the strings and the neck like I usually do, I just put it in my pocket.”

Pete only nodded understandingly as he watched Patrick pluck out a simple bass line. Although, something the boy said really stood out to Pete: _The punk was anxious like him._

After Patrick played a flawless bass cover of Green Day’s “Longview,” Pete decided to speak up about what was on his mind.

“Were you nervous to come over here?” He asked. Patrick stopped right before starting the beginning of The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army” to look up at him. His eyes were wide almost disbelievingly, as if he couldn’t believe that someone would have the audacity to ask him a question like that.

“Uh no?” The punk shook his head, “Why do you care?” The punk said. They were on the edge of venomous, but it seemed that Patrick was trying to be nice also. After all, it was just a question.

“I don’t know,” Pete shrugged. “You said something about being anxious before coming over here, and I thought that maybe it was because you were coming to my house.”

Patrick shut right up and looked down at the strings of the bass before Pete could see his reaction. He assumed that he was correct, and that the boy didn’t mean to speak about it… He then realized that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, but I just-“ Pete tried, but he couldn’t save himself this time. “I don’t know…” _Why did he ask, anyways?_

“No… It’s- It’s fine, I guess.” Patrick stuttered and Pete’s never seen him so flustered. “I have the tendency to overshare without knowing it, so when people ask, I don’t expect it and shut down,” He rushed his response as he got up from the bed to the bass back in it’s lonely corner. Pete watched him do this in surprise- _he hoped that he would play longer_. “But anyways, I told my dad that I would be home at seven, so I think I’m gonna go.” He said as he came back to the bed to put everything back into his book bag.

“Oh- okay, yeah that’s alright,” Pete said as he watched him throw his book bag over his shoulder and walk towards his door. However, before leaving, Pete got up from his bed and said, “Hey, wait!”

Patrick paused before turning around and looking at the jock. His eyes were wild-looking- almost panicked, and his lips were in a thin line as he stared at him.

“What time do you wanna come over tomorrow?” Pete asked smoothly. He didn’t want to scare the boy away and have him screaming out of his house as if it was haunted. “That is, if you want to come over again.”

Patrick’s body seemed to relax a bit more as his eyes- that were still looking at the other boy -softened. “Do you still want me to come over?” They asked cautiously.

 _Do I want him to come over?_ Pete thought, but before he could answer that question to himself, he nodded his head.

“Then yeah, sure. The same time as today would be fine.”

“Okay, good.” Pete smiled, and oddly enough, Patrick grinned also.

“Yep, fine.” Patrick turned back around and walked out of Pete’s bedroom. The jock heard him go down the stairs, the sound of his front door opening and closing, and the sound of their car engine coming to life and driving out of his driveway, signaling Patrick's departure.

And somehow, deep within himself, Pete felt sad that the punk was gone and oddly excited for Mrs. Lee’s class tomorrow morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then love, love will tear us apart again  
> Love, love will tear us apart again”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here’s chapter three!! thank you all for support, i very much appreciate it <3
> 
> anyways, enjoy !!

Wednesday morning was also a wreck to get through. In first period Chemistry, they were learning about Significant Figures- whatever the fuck that was, Pete still had no idea. Nevertheless, he powered through his first two classes to finally reach English.

After Patrick left last night, Pete sat on his bed and rethought everything that had happened previously, and he came to the conclusion that he actually liked the punk. Even with his slight anger issues and overbearing sarcasm, oddly enough. It felt nice to talk to someone about something that wasn’t sports or stupid dating drama. He considered him somewhat of a friend, but the question was on whether or not they felt the same way.

As he walked into Mrs. Lee’s classroom, he spotted Patrick in his usual seat with his head down and scribbling in his notebook. However, it wasn’t his normal English notebook, but a smaller journal with a black cover. It almost looked like those mini bibles that Christian church members handed out to people at random places to promote god (but Pete wouldn’t know, he’s never taken one). He wanted to wave or something, just to acknowledge that Pete remembered last night, but his teammates were already calling him over to his desk. Of course, Pete noticed this and walked back to his desk by his friends and sat down.

“What do you guys want?” Pete asked. There was no heat to his question, but he felt annoyed since he already knew where this conversation was going to go.

“We just wanted to know how the date with the freak went,” They all giggled like the assholes they were. “Did he try to attack you, or anything?” One asked.

“No. He in fact didn’t,” Pete grumbled. “We actually had a nice time, thank you very much.”

His teammates were stunned by this. Genuinely surprised by the fact that the punk could be a decent human being- or an actual person -in general.

“Seriously?” Another scoffed. “He didn’t, like, try and sacrifice you to Satan or anything?” They all burst out into laughter again.

“Okay seriously, guys, knock it off,” Pete said, his tone was serious and gave a look that signaled that he wasn’t fucking around. “He’s a nice dude, now quit being dicks and stop making fun of him.”

“Dude, what has gotten into you?” One scoffed, “You’re not seriously defending him, are you?”

Pete stayed silent because for the life of him he didn’t know himself why he was defending the punk. Yeah, they had a decent conversation last night, but it wasn’t like they were best friends or anything of the sort.  _ Why was he getting so angry? _

“Guys, I think the freak has gotten into his head.” They all laughed boisterously.

Pete couldn’t defend himself before the bell rung and Mrs. Lee got up from her seat to shut the door. His friends continued to laugh but stopped once the teacher told them to cut it out.

“Alrighty, everyone! It’s time for you to get with your partner and continue working on your poetry books,” Mrs. Lee said, her tone bright and happy. “That’s all that we’ll be doing today, so get on with it!” Everyone got up from their seats to go find their partners, but Pete couldn’t bring himself to walk over to the punk’s desk. Thankfully, Patrick didn’t look back at him or come over to his desk.

The rest of the class period involved Pete and Patrick staying at their separate desks: Patrick scribbling in his mini bible journal and Pete questioning his life choices. Luckily, the jock’s dickhead teammates were separated from one another, so they could work on their own poetry books and not harass Pete and his friendship choices. With them gone, Pete could slowly fall apart in silence up until the bell rang.

Pete quickly got up from his seat and slung his backpack over his shoulder before heading towards the door and leaving the classroom without hearing a single remark from his teammates. However, as he walked down the hallway towards his fourth period algebra class, a familiar head of bleached-blonde hair walked up beside him.

“You still want me to come over after school right?” Patrick whispered. He kept his head up and eyes straight forward as if it was a secret to have this conversation with the jock.

“Uh yeah, sure,” Pete said. He was surprised by his sudden appearance and his attempt at being nonchalant. He forgot about their agreement of not talking to one another at school.

“Okay. Just making sure.” 

And before Pete knew it, the punk was gone and out of his sight.

***

Pete got home from practice and showered like usual. Once he was in clean clothes, he walked into his bedroom and sat on his bed to wait for Patrick’s arrival.

As he sat, he pondered thoughts of the punk, as per usual.

_ Why did he defend him? _ I mean, he already came to the conclusion that him and Patrick were friends, but he’d normally let his jock friends pick on anyone they wanted. The way he felt almost angry when they brought it up was confusing. Pete didn’t know why he thought about this so hard- maybe he was just being a decent human being for once?

At first, maybe he thought that his friends were being rational. Afterall, the punk literally shattered their teammate’s kneecaps freshman year, but now it seemed that they were just being flat-out dicks to him for no reason. Patrick was a nice person, for the most part, so why did they constantly burade him so much?

And why does Pete care?

Pete was about to try and figure out his answer, but the doorbell rang before he could.

The jock got up from his bed and ran out of his room to reach his front door. As he approached it, he could see Patrick’s hair on the other side and something within Pete felt excited to see him. The latter opened the door, and the punk stood on the other side with his book bag slung over his shoulder and a smirk on his face.

“Hey,” Patrick said. Today he wore a red flannel shirt opened all the way down to show a black Nirvana shirt underneath. He still had black skinny jeans with the chains attached, but wore black Doc Martens with yellow shoe laces instead of his previously worn black Converse. And of course, his signature lip piercing that hooked onto his bottom lip and made his smirk more enticing.

_ Maybe you should stop looking at his lips _ , Pete thought as he glanced up at his blue eyes from his mouth.

“Hey,” He said as he let Patrick into his house. Instead of waiting for Pete to close the door, Patrick continued to walk through his house towards the stairs. He walked up a couple of steps before pausing and turning back to Pete who stood still by his doorway, looking at the blonde.

“What are you waiting for? Come on,” Patrick motioned him up the stairs before going up himself. Pete didn’t know why, but he laughed as he walked over to his stairs to follow Patrick up the steps.

Once they were both seated on Pete’s bed and situated, they started working on their poems. Patrick continued to write down his poems and finish every example Mrs. Lee had given them, but Pete still couldn’t find it within himself to finish even one.

_ Why am I like this? _ He thought to himself as he stared at his empty notebook.  _ I really need to get my shit together. _

Pete decided about five minutes later that he couldn’t handle the silence as he worked on a nonexistent poem, but before he could speak, the punk spoke up first.

“Thank you,” Patrick said. He didn’t look up from his paper as he said it, but continued to scribble in his notebook. Pete was spooked by this, but answered nonetheless.

“Oh? For what?” He questioned. He set his notebook off to the side to give them his full attention.

The blonde looked up at him, “For defending me when your friends were saying all that stuff. I… I figured that you would- I don’t know, agree with them or say other things, but you didn’t and… I don’t know, thank you, I guess?” Patrick said. His cheeks were partially rosy from what Pete could assume was embarrassment. He really didn’t expect this from the punk.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Pete gave him a weak smile. “I didn’t know you heard all that.”

“I heard everything before, didn’t I?” Patrick said facetiously. “I don’t know- I just wanted to say thank you. No one has ever defended me like that before, and I guess ever since that whole debacle freshman year everyone sort of…” The blonde shrugged, “Lost trust in me.”

“Oh, I-“ Pete really had no idea what to say to that, “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Patrick shook his head. “It was all my fault anyways. I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”

“Mhm…” Pete nodded. He had no idea what for sure happened between the punk and his teammate, and somewhere deep in his brain wanted to find out. “So... what exactly happened?” He ended up asking a couple seconds later.

“You don’t know?” Patrick asked astonishingly. “I thought everyone heard about it?”

“Well, I knew about it,“ Pete said. “I was at school that day and everyone told me after it happened, but people have the tendency to over-exaggerate things…”

“What truly happened?”

Patrick looked off to the side and stared for a moment as if to recall the lost memory. Pete thought that he sort of looked like those characters in movies where they’re about to do a dramatic retelling of their past, but he digressed.

“It was after my second period biology class down by Mr. Armstrong’s classroom,” Patrick finally said. “I was walking down the hallway and a few football players fucking pushed me against a locker. I was gonna just walk away, but they held me against it and threatened to knock my teeth out. They also called me a “freak” and their oh-so favorite F slur.” The punk laughed, but there was no true joy behind it. 

Pete flinched because he knew how much those guys like saying their slurs. He’s never said them- his mother would smack him -and his teammates think he’s lame for not doing so. Nonetheless, he lets Patrick continue his story.

“I had about enough of it when they started mocking my clothes and getting a little too close to my face when they did so,” Patrick shook his head. “I had no other choice but to take matters into my own hands.”

Pete nodded understandingly. He heard before that the punk started the whole fight, but obviously that wasn’t true. He regretted ever thinking otherwise of the blonde.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Patrick. That’s…” He shook his head, “Terrible.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick shrugged. They didn’t look fine considering the nervous energy that is coming off of them in waves. “It was two years ago… I’m over it.”

“Are you sure?” Pete asked. “You don’t seem like you’re over it.”

“Well…” Patrick paused and looked up at the brown-haired boy, “I guess I’m nervous that you’re gonna, like, seek revenge on me, or something.”

“Seek revenge? What does that mean?”

“I figured that since he was your teammate that you would, I don’t know, beat me up?” He laughed awkwardly. “That’s why I was nervous yesterday. I thought…”

“Oh shit,” Was all Pete could say. “I…”

“But I think yesterday and today showed me that you aren’t like what I thought you were,” Patrick continued to say. “So that’s why I said thank you ‘cause I half expected you to just treat me like all those other guys, but you didn’t and I appreciate it a lot.”

Pete couldn’t help but smile at the punk, “You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome. I had no idea you thought that about me, and I’m sorry that you felt nervous coming over here. If I’m gonna be honest, I felt nervous about you coming here.”

“Why is that?” Patrick asked. His tone wasn’t malicious, but genuinely curious. “Are you scared of me?”

“Partially?” Pete laughed feeling somewhat embarrassed. “I just didn’t know what to expect, that was all. Those guys tried convincing me that you were this bad person when you’re actually not, and that wasn’t cool of me to assume things,” He shook his head and frowned.

“It’s fine, Pete, really. I understand,” Patrick gave a genuine smile that Pete thought was very lovely. “My appearance isn’t the most reassuring thing ever, and the whole thing from freshman year doesn’t help.”

“You know, you shouldn’t think so low of yourself.” Pete said. “You’re a really nice person, and dressing a certain way shouldn’t deter that, y’know?”

“I guess so,” Patrick shrugged, “But thank you, anyways, that was very sweet.” He continued to smile at him and Pete felt warmth fall over him. As if it was a cold, fall night at a football game and he was awarded a hot chocolate to drink. The heat of the drink made his body feel warm even though it was a chilly night in the suburbs of Chicago. It felt like… home.

“It’s no problem at all,” Pete smiled at the boy and he saw the pink appear on their cheeks again. The latter didn’t say anything more after that, but went straight to work on their poems.

Although the silence was comfortable, Pete didn’t like how quiet the room was—especially since he couldn’t mentally work on his own poems—so he decided to get up from his bed and walk over to his CD player to put on some music.

“Do you have any music recommendations?” He asked the blonde who looked over at him with an amusing look on his face.

“What do you have?” They asked, a slight smirk on their face. Pete gave a light smile before turning back to his CD collection and scan through the covers of the plastic cases.

“AC/DC, Aerosmith, Beatles, Beach Boys, Black Sabbath…” Pete listed off, “Pearl Jam, Joy Division-”

“Joy Division? Do you have  _ Closer _ ?”

“Yeah,” Pete responded as he took out the case, opened it, and popped the CD out. He turned on his CD player before sliding in the disk and pressing play. When the music started playing, he went back over to his bed and proceeded to put his english notebook on his lap.

Pete planned to work on his poems, he really did, but when the blonde started singing along to the songs, he became distracted.

At first, they started to hum along with the melodies and tap his pencil to the rhythm, but by the end of the first song he started losing up. The blonde sang the words gently as the different tracks played, but once “ _ Love Will Tear Us Apart _ ” came on, they became lost in the music and sang the lyrics louder.

Pete watched as the boy fell under the song’s spell. It felt too personal to watch- as if he shouldn’t be watching at all -but the emotion in their voice and overall performance drew the jock in. He couldn’t stop staring at him; their eyes were shut and his mouth with that goddamn lip piercing was open, singing lyrics that felt entirely brand new. Pete’s heard this song multiple times- it’s his favorite on the album -but something about Patrick made it his own and Pete absolutely loved it.

The brown-haired boy grew too infatuated with the blonde to notice that they stopped singing and stared at him with eyes wide in surprise.

“Holy shit,” Patrick gasped. “I’m so sorry.” They sounded embarrassed as they quickly looked down at their notebook to shield his eyes from the jock.

“N-No, it’s all good,” Pete said. The music was still playing in the background which gave the overall mood of the room feel more calm, but the jock was somewhat scared that he had done something wrong. “I didn’t mean to…” He paused; what was he supposed to say?

“It’s fine,” Patrick said. “I sort of lost myself there for a second, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Pete shook his head. “I really liked it.” He smiled at him, but Patrick gave him a confused look.

“Really?” The punk asked apprehensively. “My singing is terrible.”

“Okay, now you’re lying,” Pete chuckled.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Patrick raised his eyebrows and had an accusing tone in his voice.

“Well, I ain’t calling you a truther.”

The punk paused, a somewhat angry look on his face, but eventually his expression softened and he started to laugh. Pete joined in, and the two boys sat on his bed giggling for almost five minutes until a knock came at the door that stopped their laughing fit.

“Who is it?” Pete asked automatically. He tried to calm down, but there were still tears in his eyes.

“It’s your mother, dipshit.” The door swung open and revealed a short, darker-skinned woman with brown hair tied back into a bun. She was dressed in a fancy blouse and dress pants as if she had just come home from work. “I was just wondering what-“ The woman paused when she saw another person that wasn’t her son sitting on the bed. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t know someone else was here.” She gasped and walked further into the room, “Pete? Who’s your friend?”

“Mom, this is Patrick,” Pete motioned to the blonde who recovered from their laughing fit fairly quickly once a stranger walked into the room. But nonetheless, they gave a small smile and waved. “And Patrick, this is my mom.”

“Hello, Mrs. Wentz. It’s nice to meet you,” Patrick continued to say and Pete’s mom had a soft, warm smile on her face.

“Oh, please. Call me Dale,” She assured him. “But it’s nice to meet you too, Patrick. I’m not used to people being over who aren’t smelly football players ransacking my cupboard for food,” She laughed.

“What do you need, Mom?” Pete asked to try and continue the conversation. He knew that she had the tendency to drag out the discussion more than it needed to be. As a mom does.

“Oh, I just came home from work and I heard laughing upstairs,” Dale chuckled. “I just wanted to know what was going on.”

“It was nothing,” Pete shook his head. “I said something funny and we both laughed. That’s all.”

“Oh okay,” She gave a knowing look before walking back towards the doorway. “Well, I’m gonna go back downstairs and start making dinner for tonight. Patrick, if you would like to stay and eat, we would be more than happy to have you.”

“Thank you so much for the offer, but I think I’m gonna head out soon,” Patrick said. Pete looked over at his clock and it was close to six o’clock.

“Are you sure?” Pete asked, and the blonde looked over at him with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You’ve only been over for an hour, and we still have some work to do.”

“Do you want me to stay longer?” The punk asked almost disbelievingly. Pete nodded and saw their expression relax into something more thoughtful. “Okay then,” Patrick turned to Pete’s mother who wore the same warm smile as before.

“I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, my fellow bad bitches. stay bad xx  
> -brick (twitter/tumblr: @falloutbrick)


End file.
